


Time Off

by RainInTheSummer



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Seduction, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 05:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15988541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainInTheSummer/pseuds/RainInTheSummer
Summary: Trying to get time off from an employer like Stan Pines was about as hopeless as trying to chop down a fully grown pine tree with nothing but a toothpick, but Wendy was nothing if not stubborn. She was going to get that time off, one way or another. Even if it meant violating the Mystery Shack's sexual harassment policy.





	Time Off

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun little smut fic based on an old prompt. Hope you all enjoy.

"Hey! Woah there kid. I know you really want Thursday and Friday off, but don't you think you're taking things a little too far here?" Stan warned sternly, though not unkindly.

It was at the end of a cool spring day, and the light filtering in from the sunset outside was almost vibrant enough to hide the deep red blush on Wendy's freckled face. Almost.

One of Stan's eyebrows crept its way into his hairline as he looked down at her in mild concern and skepticism. Regardless of however embarrassed Wendy might be feeling at the moment, if it even was embarrassment that was causing her to blush and not... something else, she didn't loosen the tight grip she had on her prize. She stared back at Stan with excited and somewhat anxious green eyes, a knowing smirk on her face.

"Well Mr. Pines, if you're not willing to give me Thursday and Friday off yet, then maybe I haven't taken it quite far enough."

Good grief, Stan wondered to himself, trying desperately to remain steely and keep a slight blush from creeping over his own cheeks. Just how desperate was she to risk doing something as crazy as this? Was she even aware of what she was implying? Or was this just the typical teenage thing of talking out of your ass and pretending to understand more than you actually did? What the hell had Stan even done to deserve getting into this kind of stupid situation anyways?

Well, maybe he should have seen it coming. Wendy had been badgering him about not coming in to work at the end of the week non-stop today. There was apparently some road trip headed down south that she'd wanted to join a couple of kids named Tambry and Thompson on, or something? Stan hadn't really been paying attention to what the redhead had been yammering on about that closely. She'd first brought it up during the morning rush, and Stan, after grumbling something vulgar to himself in disbelief, had laughed in her face and told her that she could have the days off when he got himself a pair of magic money pants. Wendy hadn't been deterred and continued to complain about it all the way into the early afternoon lull. When that hadn't worked, she'd stubbornly started arguing with Stan during the late afternoon when they'd gotten an unusually large swell of tourists. At one point, Stan had been forced to angrily remind Wendy that she was currently on the clock and needed to focus on her job of taking money from the chumps lined up at the cash register, not on squabbling with her boss. 

Then, instead of making her usual effort to high tail it out of the shack as quickly as possible as soon as her shift had ended, Wendy had decided to loaf around the place till the end of the day, long after Soos had gone home and Stan had almost finished taking inventory around the gift shop. Stan had thrown a glance in her direction every now and then, wondering when she was going to bring up this 'time off' nonsense again, trying to figure out what her angle was going to be. She’d spent most of the time leaning back reading a magazine at her station, feet propped up against the counter in her usual display of rebellious indifference. He hadn't been sure before what exactly she was waiting for. 

Well, now he had his answer. This time, Wendy had... changed her tactics somewhat.

Stan didn't know whether to be slightly impressed by the teen's determination or pissed off. Giving Wendy an annoyed glare as he clamped his hand tighter around the girl's wrist and firmly pulled her hand off from its snug position on his crotch, Stan decided on the later.

"Not gonna happen, kid." He growled as he roughly pushed Wendy's arm back to her side. He walked a few steps past her to put a more comfortable distance between the two of them. 

Stan was willing to let this go, he decided. Not letting it go would mean that he would have to give a lecture about boss-employee relationships, or dig up those old 1980's 'sexual harassment in the workplace' pamphlets from god knows where in his office, and he didn't really feel like doing either of those things at the moment. Might as well just chalk it up to teenage hormones making the girl act erratic and horny, or the general sort of poor decisions that people make when they're young and act without thinking. He'd certainly made his fair share of poor decisions when he was her age, sexual and otherwise. Stan wouldn't hold it against her. He had no qualms about being the bigger man in this situation and just ignoring that little... moment back there to save the girl some embarrassment later down the line.

Wendy apparently didn't agree, and just as he’d made it into the doorway of his office she grabbed onto his bicep and stopped him.

Stan turned a fraction, furrowed his brow, and shot a dismissive "You need something else?" over his shoulder.

"Aw, come on Mr. Pines" Wendy teased nonchalantly, easy and confident smile still in place. Even her blush reduced somewhat as she seemed to commit to her gambit. "When's the last time someone's touched your wrinkly old junk like that? When's the last time you've even been with a woman?"

Stan, for the second time that day, was taken aback by the redhead's boldness and just stood there blinking for a moment before he whirled around to face her again, scowl fixed firmly in place. 

"Firstly," He barked, counting out on his hand, "you're not a woman, you're a scrawny little brat, and I'm not into that sort of thing. Secondly, if I actually wanted some nagging woman to keep me warm at night, I could go down to a sleazy bar and find one no problem. Thirdly, even if I was interested in that kind of..." Wendy made a 'not so innocent' gesture of tugging at her collar to draw attention to the start of her cleavage before crossing her arms right under her breasts to help push them out a little. Stan trailed off, distracted. 

His gaze roamed down Wendy's figure for a moment, as he took in her, admittedly not terrible, hip to waist to chest ratio, and his traitorous thoughts nearly took him down a road that he really didn't want to travel down. Damn, it really must have been a good while if the old Stan O'War was actually taking notice of the gangly teenager in front of him. Usually, he much preferred, thicker, huskier women. Bean poles just didn't do it for him. Thankfully, he managed to swerve his eyes away and onto the display shelf somewhere behind her head before they made their way too far down.

"...stuff you're offering," Stan continued awkwardly after a beat. His head was feeling a bit fuzzier than it had a few moments before, and he noticed that his heart rate was getting a tad faster as well. Stan viciously slammed down on the rather indecent thoughts that were starting to creep into his mind and accompanying urges that came with them. Obviously, there were some things he would have to take care of later once he'd managed to shoo the brash teen off his property.

"Don't lie, Mr. Pines." Wendy chirped confidently as though she could read his mind, the smirk on her face growing in synch with her somewhat nervous blush. "This is the best offer a dinosaur like you has probably gotten in ages." She made a point to rock on her heels so that her breasts jiggled a little. "You're totally interested."

Stan's eyes darted back to Wendy so that he could fix her with a hard glare. 

"No, I'm not!" The words came out a little faster and with a higher octave than he'd intended them to, causing Stan to internally growl at himself. What the hell was wrong with him. How could he be letting this skinny little redhead lead him by the nose like this? He was the boss here. He was in charge, not her. 

Stan gave a tired smirk and gestured to his hands, hoping to diffuse the stupidly tense moment with some crass humor. "What would I want something like that for when I've got old shaky and scratchy here anyways."

"Boo. Having to give yourself a handjob sucks, and you know it."

Stan's almost-smile fell back into a glower. "Even if I was interested in something like that," he snarled, "whatever you could offer me wouldn't be worth the jail time, or, even worse, your old man breaking my spine over his knee if he ever found out."

Wendy just rolled her eyes and shot Stan a conspiratory look. "Well, this definitely isn't the sort of thing I'd want to brag about, so I won't tell anyone if you don't."

"Look," Stan threw his hands up and took a step towards the teen, temper starting to boil slightly, "I get that this road trip thing with your friends is real important to ya and whatnot, but you can't always get what you want. Life's full of tough breaks kiddo."

"Relax, it's not like I want to do anything intense with you old timer," Wendy insisted, exasperated. She took a few steps closer to Stan herself, closing the distance between them. 

Stan was tempted to back away again or retreat into his office, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of being able to push him around like that. The girl was clearly overestimating how much authority she had in this situation, and he was determined not to give her any more false impressions on the matter. Stan crossed his arms and held his ground, stubborn and stone-faced, even as Wendy got intimately into his personal space, close enough for him to feel the tickling breath of her sigh against his chin. She angled her body in such a way that her breasts were just a hair away from pressing into his own chest. 

"Just a quick BJ is all." She raised her brow and offered cooly to him. Stan found her typical calm, half-lidded gaze unnerving at the moment. It was as though she was talking about something relatively mundane, like her favorite song on the radio, instead of soliciting her sixty-year-old boss for oral sex. "I'll do you this favor and give you a good time, and in return, you can give me a good time by letting me have Thursday and Friday off. It's a win-win!"

Stan cooed at Wendy sarcastically." Kid, I get what's going on here, alright. You're a dumb teenage girl filled with a bunch of crazy hormones, and you're just now discovering that you can make all the equally dumb teenage boys in your life do whatever you want by acting coy and flashing a little cleavage." He dropped his mocking tone and became more stern as he jabbed at himself. "Well, I ain't one of your dumb teenage boys Wendy. I haven't been that stupid and easy for over forty years. You can't jus-ahh!"

Whatever Stan was going to finish that sentence with was abruptly forgotten as Wendy grabbed at his crotch again, her slim fingers far more mindful in wrapping around his bulge than they had been the first time she'd clumsily reached below his waistline. She gave it a slow, firm squeeze, finger by finger increasing the pressure along his shaft till she loosened her grasp, and then started with the index finger all over again.

Stan stood there, red-faced and sputtering, too caught off guard by the suddenness and boldness of the move to even think about trying to stop her. His breathing was heavy, and his heart skipped a beat here and there. His nether regions twitched and stirred slightly under the firm pressure of Wendy's hand. The teen gave him a look that let him know that she'd felt that movement in his pants as well, and the smile on her face grew unbearably smug and coy.

"I can't just what, Mr. Pines."

This was a very, very dangerous situation for him to be in. Usually, Stan was the type who was fairly cunning and perceptive when it came to understanding how people worked. He knew how to scam, schmooze, or distract an audience, and had an almost infallible intuition when it came to detecting bullshit and con jobs from others. But ‘women’, specifically beautiful women who were interested in him, for whatever reason didn’t register to Stan as ‘normal people’. They disarmed him in very much the way that alcohol did. The minute some babe started flirting in his direction it was like she’d stepped right into the blind spot of his common sense. When a ‘normal person’ he’d only just met made an attempt to butter him up, Stan would smile with them, insincerely accept their compliment, and keep himself alert for possible ulterior motives. When a ‘woman’ he’d only just met told him that she loved him and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, Stan would instantly become more gullible than any rube who’d ever passed through his shack and believe her completely. He still had a void marriage license and stolen vehicle report filed away in his cabinet as a shameful reminder of just how much of a stupid sap he became in the presence of ‘women’. 

Wendy wasn’t necessarily a ‘woman’, but she was close enough to be worrying. He had to put a stop to this, now.

"Kid," Stan ground out lowly, struggling to hear himself over the sound of his own pulse thrumming in his ears as he met Wendy's gaze, "get your hands off of me right now, or you're fired!"

The teen flinched slightly at his tone but still met his stare evenly, green eyes sparking with excitement. "Heh, please." Her freckled face reddened further when another undulating press of her palm against her boss's genitals elicited an involuntary gasp from him. "I only barely do my job at the cash register. If you could afford to fire me then you would have done it already." 

Stan couldn't think of a rebuttal to that. It was hard to think in general. His head was swimming as he stared out past the teenager's bright red hair, into the deep oranges and crimsons of the sunset-soaked gift shop beyond. 

This was bad. Very bad. He was defiantly starting to cross the threshold into the danger zone. But god almighty did that small, feminine hand aggressively fondling his junk feel good. Wendy had been right on the money when she'd guessed that he hadn't been touched like this in ages, and Stan knew it made him especially receptive and vulnerable to this kind of manipulation. The slight throbbing slowly building up heat and strength down at his groin was a testament to that. 

Damn it. Sure, he had a few jerkoff magazines hidden in a trunk up in his room, and he had used them occasionally. But for Stan, occasionally meant three, maybe four times a year on average. 

He didn't really like doing it in the house. After all, it was kind of, technically, still his brother's house in his mind. He knew it was stupid, but every time he sat up in his room and whipped it out, he felt like he was whipping it out on top of Stanford's grave. It was hard to maintain a boner in the oppressively dark and quiet shack with the imagined specter of his twin's scowling face staring down at him in disapproval. Bad enough he had to see that face haunting his mirror every morning. 

Add in the fact that he was getting up there in years, that his sex drive was starting to slow down quite a bit, and it was perfectly understandable why he'd neglected things down there for a while.

Or at least, Stan amended to himself, he'd thought up until about a minute ago that his sex drive had slowed down. But if even the practically PG way that Wendy was stroking him through the thick fabric of his pants was enough to start getting a rise out of him, then maybe he wasn't quite as dead down there yet as he'd believed.

Wendy made the rather cheeky move of wrapping her other hand around her employer's ball sack and giving that a gentle press as well. Stan stared out blankly for a few more seconds, struggling to latch on to what common sense was still floating around in the now uncomfortably warm haze of his mind before finally getting ahold of himself. Like hell he was going to go down like this, lonely old man who hadn't had any real action in several decades, or not.

Stan growled, reached down, forcibly tore Wendy's hands away from his privates, and put them deliberately back at her sides. He felt his face heating up, turning a slightly deeper shade of red as the motion forced his chest to press up slightly against her bosom. 

"Wendy," His deep voice snarled in her ear as he leaned in closer over her shoulder, attempting to make her uncomfortable for a change, "I'm willing to forget this whole thing ever happened if you knock it off now. But that's all I'm giving you. You're coming into work tomorrow and Friday. End of discussion."

The smirk on Wendy's face dropped as she looked away. The teen almost seemed to be considering his offer for a moment. Whatever hope Stan had that he'd successfully intimidated her, however, was thrown out the window the moment she turned back to lock her determined gaze with his increasingly irked one. 

The scarlet flush deepening on her face till it almost completely drowned out her freckles was the only warning Stan got before the teen quickly yanked her hands free and forcibly shoved them past her boss's tightly cinched belt and down his pants. 

"Ah! Fuck! What the hell." The breathless curse was the only thing Stan could reasonably think to say to about this bizarre and indecent turn of events. For the third time that day, he was left in a helpless, dumbfounded stupor as he stared down at the brazen redhead in front of him.

The sensible thing to do would have been to pull her grubby little hands out and push her away, but Stan suddenly wasn't feeling very sensible. His thoughts were elsewhere... downwards. Wendy's hands were pleasantly soft, cool, and smooth as they weaved their way through the jungle of pubic hair and pressed into the feverishly warm, pulsing swelter below. The feeling of skin on skin contact down there made something within Stan's mind and crotch uncoil; brought up memories he hadn't thought about in a lifetime.

They had been sitting alone in her room the first time Carla had ever touched it. It was a first for each of them, both being around sixteen at the time. Carla had been extremely giggly and blushing fiercely throughout the whole affair. She'd started to stick her hand down past the elastic band of his underwear several times, only to pull back nervously during the last seconds. With some gentle prodding, and a couple of suggestive whispers hissed into Carla's ear that made her blush even harder, he'd finally gotten her to go for it, and the wave of pleasure he'd experienced at feeling her small, uncertain hands wrap around his cock for the first time had been immeasurable. Lightyears better than his own large calloused hand, for whatever reason.

"Gosh, it feels so big," Carla had murmured absent-mindedly, her sweat sleeked, warm fingers gently, steadily stroking up and down his erect shaft. 

"You don't have to say bullshit like that to feed my ego." Stan shot back in an aroused daze. The creamy smoothness of her palm felt so, so good against the velvety soft skin of his dick. He had to remind himself to swallow. His face was feverish, and his heart was pounding against his ribcage.

"No, that's not what I meant," Carla amended as she leaned over to give him a rather measured squeeze. "It's just that I've never touched one before. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know that it would fit so perfectly in my hand. I thought there would be more wiggle room."

Oh, it fit perfectly in her hand all right.

Stan was tugged out of his reminiscing by the sound his heavy steps made on the creaky wooden floor as he stumbled backward into his office. He stared blankly out somewhere past the top of Wendy's hat, his head in a drowsy, aroused, static-filled stupor. Wendy kept one hand firmly clutched onto his genitals and the other fixed onto his shoulder, steering Stan and pushing him back deeper into the room. 

He didn't have the presence of mind to resist her or put up much of a fight. His breathing sounded low and shallow even to him, and he could still smell the light scent of Carla's lemongrass and daisy perfume more than forty years into the future. His pulse thrummed in his ears as whatever blood remained in his brain started pulsing it's way down to his groin, leaving him feeling very light headed on his upper end and increasingly aware of every slight movement Wendy's fingers were making on his now very rigid lower end.

Stan's back hit the edge of his desk, and he swallowed hard before turning his gaze back to the rather smug but also slightly flustered looking teenager in front of him. He could barely even focus in on her. The whole shack seemed far away and muted compared to the immense pressure building up in his pants. 

He made one final attempt to fend the horny little gremlin off.

"K-kid," He managed to gasp out, though he was slightly ashamed at the stutter, "I already said you're not doing this."

Wendy winked and made a deliberate show of licking her lips before sinking down to her knees and beginning to undo Stan's belt one-handed. The other hand she kept firmly fixed on his weak point, tenderly but securely drumming her fingers lengthwise from tip to base.

Stan's arms were numb and useless at his sides, both unable and unwilling to do anything as his pants and then underwear dropped to his ankles. Wendy pushed him back a little more so that he was sitting on the desk. His bare asscheeks and balls slapped dully against the cool wood and mess of papers. The slightly musky tang of his manhood started to seep into the smell of varnish, dust, and pine trees that permeated the air around the shack.

This was wrong. This was so wrong. But god, did Stan really want it right now. He'd wanted it for ages and ages. He just... hadn't remembered that he'd wanted it till now. 

What was the harm in it really, anyway? 

Stan shook his head slightly and tried to focus his mind on the image of Dan Corduroy's furious glare boring into him, the man wrapping his bear-like mitts around his neck, choking the life out of him after finding out what he'd done with his daughter. Stan’s boner, unfortunately, wasn't really listening to his brain at the moment and kept tightening and growing like it was no one's business. 

"Gah! Knock it off already!" Stan wasn't sure whether the rather breathless demand had been aimed more at himself or Wendy, but the latter at least obliged him with an answer.

She stared up at him, her expression a mix of both confident and anxious, hair pulled to one side, warm cheek pressed firmly into his inner thigh. "Here's the deal, Mr. Pines," Wendy grumbled cooly. "Either you give me Thursday and Friday off, or I'll make you give me them off."

Stan pushed aside a growing feeling of humiliation to glare down at his employee, face red and expression absolutely livid. Yeah, right. Like he was actually going to give in to the demands of this sarcastic, unreliable, tomboy, pubescent slacker. Wendy had no idea what she was getting into.

"No deal, Corduroy!" He barked sharply. "Now get the hell off of-!"

Wendy stuck the tip of his dick into her mouth and gave a quick, hard suck. The slight popping noise her lips made as they left their perch around his girth sounded loud in the relative silence of the shack. Even so, Stan could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears. Whatever he had intended to finish his sentence with drained out of his mind like water drains out of a spaghetti strainer.

The teen paused to offer an insolent, self-assured smile up at Stan's abrupt silence, and then proceeded with her intended task in a more careful, deliberate manner.

She started with a light kiss on the tip, gently exploring the edges and shape of it before slowly pressing down harder and harder as it moved deeper into her mouth. Her lips formed a firm, airtight suction around as they slid down his shaft. Wendy hesitated here and then turned her head slightly to thrust the soft flesh of his tip so deeply into the equally slick and soft flesh of her saliva filled cheek, that Stan couldn't feel where he ended and she began. 

Wendy's bright red hair tumbled over her shoulders at the motion, and Stan had to resist the urge to grab a fistful of it as his eyes rolled upwards to the ceiling. A low groan eased out between his now steady panting.

Wendy let out a muffled laugh that caused her whole mouth, and Stan's cock by extension, to vibrate slightly, which made him moan a second time. She reached her hand up onto the desk and gave his ballsack a semi-mischievous, semi-tender squish before threading her fingers into his greyish-white pubic hair and clutching onto it roughly. It almost seemed to Stan as though Wendy was trying to prevent him from escaping.

Escape wasn't exactly on the forefront of his mind at the moment, Stan thought, much to his shame.

The teen let out a strong, harsh breath through her nose as she moved his dick slowly up towards the center of her mouth again, and Stan's genitalia pulsed rhythmically as she slowly increased her suction. She ran her tongue lightly across his tip, making small circles and curling around it in an almost playful manner, before sinking it more intensely into the firmer flesh further down. There, she made a few sluggish and tender strokes on the underside, compelling the part of her boss currently in her mouth to tingle, throb, and engorge even further. It elicited another small gasp from Stan as the muscles on his lower back seemed to tremble in response. 

Then Wendy's silken lips started squeezing so hard around his shaft that it was almost painful. She began moving her head back and forth, slowly at first, but gradually getting faster and faster as Stan was pulled deeper and deeper into her. Eventually, he even started to feel himself being pulled in past the back of her throat, and the immense pressure of her esophagus against the sides of his dick had Stan seeing spots. His eyes rolled up past the ceiling and all the way into the back of his skull. He could barely breathe, save to let out a short gasp here and there. He was too tense and hot. He was red and scalding. He ached for release. His nethers were pounding and pumping so wildly that he could practically hear it. Even the thundering of his heartbeat was quiet by comparison. 

Stan could feel himself leaking a bit as the unbearably rising build-up became too much for him to handle. Below him, Wendy gagged slightly as some of his torrid, hot cum started dripping down the back of her throat, though it didn't slow her down. Stan barely noticed. Dan Corduroy himself could have walked into his office right now, and he wouldn't have even had the presence of mind to be aware of it. Everything that wasn't his own cock, or Wendy's hands and mouth, faded away into nothing as far as he was concerned.

He couldn't even tell how much time she’d spent down there, pumping back and forth. It could have been ten, fifteen, or even twenty minutes. He just knew that when she finally did pull away, his whole body felt warm, muddled, and tired. All except for his crotch, in which his blood was practically boiling. The small office was quickly filled with the sound of both Stan and Wendy panting heavily as they each tried to catch their breath.

Stan's now slippery saliva-smeared cock gave a longing thrum at the sudden rush of cold air that it was being exposed to. He let his gaze trail down to the mess of frothy spit soaked pubic hair at the base of his dick, and watched it drip onto the desk numbly for a moment before looking over at the redheaded who'd left him in this sensory-addled state.

Wendy had discarded her hat and was now unbuttoning her flannel shirt.

"Thought ya," Stan groused dully. "T-thought ya said you didn't want to do anything too intense"

"Nah, nothing like that," Wendy curtly assured as she finished peeling her white tank top off and tossing it across the room. "I'm having fun, so I thought I'd sweeten the deal up a little is all."

"You seem... well practiced for someone your age," Stan commented, a little displeased at how quiet and breathless his own usually gruff voice sounded. "Do ya watch a lot of porno's in your spare time or somethin'?"

Wendy finally got to her sports bra and tugged it up over her shoulders, and Stan felt his jaw slacken slightly at the... volume of what rippled out. 

Oh, he thought to himself, and then again for good measure, another, oh damn. Stan completely took back his earlier judgment about her being a relatively flat chested beanpole. That baggy flannel shirt really did not do her rather impressive figure justice. 

"I've had a few boyfriends to practice on."

"Shit, kid, it can't have been too many with how young you are." Try as he might, Stan couldn't get himself to look up at redheads face, and away from the sweat-slickened, perky bust currently bouncing up and down rhythmically with her heavy breathing. "How old are you again? Seventeen or eighteen?" He guessed absentmindedly. 

"Fifteen. And I've had about six so far."

That snapped Stan out of his breast induced daze.

"Fifteen," Stan repeated dumbly. It took a good ten seconds for the weight of her words to sink in fully, and when it finally did, he was overcome with the urge to rush outside throw himself into the bottomless pit. 

"No, you're kidding me. You've gotta be kidding me!" He murmured in horror as his eyes drank in the shirtless young woman before him as well as his own still rigid cock. His voice suddenly found it's strength again and he started cursing loudly. "Come on! You and your freaky, tall, lumberjack genes. Fuck, I'm going to hell!"

Wendy smirked up at her boss, green eyes dangerously impish and face beet red. She propped her breasts up so that his dick was pillowed snugly atop her cleavage and her hard nipples were noticeably pressing into the base of his inner thigh. 

"And I'm going to Santa Cruz this weekend." She said confidently. 

Stan's mind and crotch were having an argument about whether he should feel aroused or ashamed. He settled on an odd mixture of both. Oblivious or indifferent to Stan's internal conflict, Wendy oscillated her body slightly so that his stiffened manhood below him started sinking deeper into her cleavage and became encased by the wiggling softness of her breasts.

Stan's hands twitched where they were resting on the desk, but he couldn't bring either of them to reach down and pull himself out of this mess. He sort of didn't want to.

He supposed that settled it then. Even if by some miracle Stanford was actually still alive out there somewhere and Stanley hadn't accidentally killed him thirty years ago, he was definitely going to hell.

Wendy made some joking comment that Stan was too distracted and lightheaded to catch, and then she did the one thing she never did while sitting behind her post at the cash register. She enthusiastically got to work.

Placing a hand on the side of each breast, she pressed inwards firmly. Stan was instantly brought out of his guilt-stricken musings and nearly choked on his own spit as his dick was suddenly squeezed tight by the soft sweaty boobs encasing it. Wendy started rocking back and forth, the swelling and trembling of her bosom stroking snugly along his shaft. Stan felt himself getting stupid again as the veins in his cock started throbbing in time with her movements. His crotch was getting hot.

Wendy once again started out slow at first, teasing him by gradually bringing him in and out of the tension-filled crack in her cleavage. In and out, from cool crisp air to hot sweaty softness. In and out, as he got harder and harder.

Stan bowed his head and let out a low moan as one particular thrust brought him deeper in than ever before. The intoxicating pressure rolled all the way up to the pubic hair at the base of his shaft, and his entire pulsing, aching manhood was sheathed by warm, firm, and creamy smoothness. He was completely absorbed, swallowed up by the slick and soft mass. Wendy drew herself a bit closer up so that her squishy bosom was securely snuggled between his inner thighs and the heavy, but not unpleasant, weight was squeezing down on his ballsack. She stopped moving, aside from the slight trembling of her breasts as she breathed, a ripple that vibrated throughout Stan’s receptive privates alluringly along with her. She looked up at her boss pointedly.

"So, can I have Thursday and Friday off?"

Stan’s brain felt distant and murky, numb compared to the torrid hyperawareness engulfing the lower portion of his body. He was putty, soft, warm, spineless putty in this dumb, horny teenager’s hands. There was no use fighting it at this point. She’d successfully exploited that chink in his armor, Stan’s hurting, thirst for intimacy long denied by his need to maintain secrecy. It didn’t matter that Wendy didn’t understand why it was there, she’d simply detected it and then stripped him of all his years, reducing him once again the moronic, lustful teenage boy he’d been almost a lifetime ago. Whatever objections he might have had were being drowned out and consumed by his tender, pulsating desire below him, and the firm soothing warmth that enveloped it. 

Stan finally relented to the question Wendy had been asking him all day.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." He murmured, head bowed and eyes glazed over. He'd just have to find someone else to fill her shift last minute. "Fine. Just please, keep going."

"Please?" Wendy cooed, the cheeky smile plastered across her face making it obvious that she was enjoying her new found position of power over her boss. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that once before, to anyone."

"Hnnn." Stan mumbled back in dull agreement. He felt impressionable, vulnerable. "Please, come on."

"Are you sure I can have Thursday and Friday off?" Wendy was resting her chin on her palm now, grinning triumphantly up at him, her elbow digging deeply into Stan's thigh.

"Yes!" He snarled out sharply as he finally gathered himself up enough to glare back at her. "Take the whole damn week off for all I care. It's fine. Whatever!"

Wendy blushed slightly, smiled even wider, and then reached around to grab firmly at her boss's asscheek. Her fingernails burrowed into his crack. Before Stan had time to ask the teen what the hell she thought she was doing, Wendy used her newfound handhold to give her the leverage needed to slam her breasts into his crotch. Hard, and fast. The office was quickly filled with the steady cadence of heavy boobs slapping up against thighs and groin. 

Stan's dick was thrust even deeper into the snug crack of the cleavage, and he made a small involuntary noise as he was squeezed tighter and tighter, faster and faster, by the firm flesh on either side. It was moist and sweat slickened, gooey and drippy. An unbearable pressure was beginning to build up in Stan's nethers. It was too tight, too stiff. Too broiling hot. Something had to give. He was going to explode.

Wendy grunted in effort at the same time that Stan let out another deep, long groan. He was forced to grab his employee by her slim shoulder in order to avoid being toppled over by her now extremely aggressive plunging. His breath was coming out as hot and heavy as hers was despite not matching her workload. Stan’s eyelids flickered slightly before closing.

It was pulsing, sweltering, tingling. The pressure was too much. The pleasure, feverish and intoxicating. The milky smooth softness of her breasts was pumping rhythmically in time with his throbbing heat. In time with his beating heart. In time with the dull, dazed pounding in his skull, and ringing in his ears. She fit so snuggly, warmly all around him. Squeezing and encasing him. He gripped tightly onto her shoulder until his knuckles turned bone white. His whole body was swimming in an aroused, erotic haze. All except for down there. All except for the squishy, thumping, tugging, thrusting. Veins pounding so hard it ached. It was all he could feel. It was the only thing his sluggish brain could register. He forgot how to breathe. He couldn't breathe. Boiling hot. Down there was a different story. Faster and harder. It was so tense, so tight. He needed to release that unbearable load, that pressure inside of him. He was too hard. Even his tip was too hard. He was going to explode.

Stan's eyes flew open. He shot up ramrod straight and gasped sharply as, abruptly, it all came out, erupting in a wide stream out from the tip, thick and sticky. Hot and heavy. Wendy choked on her breath slightly as the swelling movement of her boobs squeezed it out from her cleavage and onto her sternum, neck, and chin. It kept coming. He hadn't done this in so long. He'd wanted it so badly for so long. It just kept coming. Leaking out from the rounded curve at the bottom of Wendy's bosom and dripping languidly down onto the floorboards. Spilling out over the top of her breasts and dribbling down onto the sides. His dick throbbed densely, sluggishly as it spewed out its warm mess. Beat, by beat, by beat, till it slowed. There was so much. It had been so long.

Stan nearly called out for Carla in his disoriented stupor, but thankfully gathered his wits enough to stop himself at the last minute. 

Wendy slowed and then stopped her movements. The two of them sat there panting for a few long moments. Taking a deep steadying breath, Stan pulled himself up again and released the iron tight grip he'd had on the teen's shoulder, and his gaze trailed down to the shining glazed mess that was spread out all over Wendy's bosom, a slippery mixture of sweat and cum. Tenderly digging through the soft, but firm flesh on either side, he reached down and extracted himself from within her. He was still pulsing, twitching, slightly, but it was weak now and slowing. Warm and limp, not boiling hot and rigid.

Wendy made a small sound of disgust below him and then started grabbing at some of the papers on his desk to clean herself off with. Stan wasn't in the right frame of mind currently to scold her for that, so he just let the tax forms go. He started out at the sunset crimson washed gift shop in a delicate, floaty fog. He was content. Satiated.

"Yeesh. You had a lot of build-up there." Wendy griped as she started pulling her sports bra back over her head again. Her ample bosom disappeared under the restrictive fabric, and Stan squelched down hard on the part of him that was sad to see it go. "When's the last time you even jacked off?" 

Stan grunted and shrugged his shoulders tiredly. "Beats me. When you get to be my age, you don't really think about that sort of thing all too often."

The teen smirked and hummed knowingly at him. "Well, obviously some part of you was thinking pretty hard about it."

She stood up and slipped her green flannel button-up loosely over her shoulders before making another playful grab at Stan's crotch. He was quick enough to catch her wrist before she made it to her destination this time.

He sat there now eye level with the teen and gave her a warning glare. "Never again, kid," Stan growled lowly, "or I really will fire you."

Wendy smirked and gave him a half-mocking, half serious salute with her free hand. "Got it. See you in a week, Mr. Pines."

And with that, Wendy slipped her hand free from Stan's lose grip, gathered her hat up, and was out the door just as quickly as the time he'd asked her and Soos if they'd be willing to put in some unpaid overtime. Stan sighed as he watched her go, an annoyed grimace working its way onto his face.

Right, a week. He had said something like that back there, hadn't he. Damn. That was going to be a tough slot to fill on short notice, but there was no helping it. He'd have to manage.

Stan furrowed his brow at the empty doorway before slipping off the desk and bending over to grab at the pants and boxers still swimming around his ankles. He absent-mindedly wiped off some of the slick mess covering his hands onto the garments as he pulled them up again, and grumbled a little in the silence of his office.

"I hate teenagers."


End file.
